


On Tony Stark and His Brilliant Mind

by Waistcoat35



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Past/Referenced Stucky, Pining Steve, Second Person, Stargazing, Steve is a huge sap, Steve's Pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 19:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12514968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: When you look at me, the spark is gold. Something about that makes me indescribably happy.





	On Tony Stark and His Brilliant Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Since she's a huge Stony shipper and a brilliant friend of mine, this story is dedicated to my buddy Jay. Happy birthday!

I watch as you dart across the room - to and fro as you pick up scrap after scrap of information, as you record it on screens and notepads, your voice the one constant thing, the one stationary variable. Sometimes what you're saying doesn't even make sense; it'll be notes from your project, chatter directed at JARVIS or myself, things to add to the shopping list, warnings for DUM-E to stay away from unstable experiments - all mashed together in your train of thought. The thoughts must dart around as you do, and I can't help but watch and listen.

The ever-present thing I focus on, aside from your voice, is the spark dancing in your eyes. It can shine blue under the light of your screens, orange or red when you're welding something, a dimmer silver when you're sad about something. (And I always notice that. I've seen the silver a lot lately - it says something that I see it because it shows up when I'm around. It says something - but not something that makes me happy.)

But when you look right at me, when I compliment you, when I've said something funny - I swear it turns gold. (It turns brightest when I tell you you're brilliant. In my humble opinion, people should tell you that more often. Especially if you're always this happy when they do so.)

When your mind starts racing, so does my heart. I can observe, I can admire - but I can't partake. I can't keep up. And maybe you make it that way on purpose. Maybe you're scared. Scared that if I can keep up, if we're set at the same pace, I'll be able to see what you're thinking. I'll be able to decode the contents of your heart. I don't want you to be scared. Not of me. Not of anything. But especially not of me. I hate hurting you. It makes me feel all clenched-up inside.

One night I finally catch up. I can't sleep - my mind refuses to become a soft, warm haze - only a whirlwind of guns and flames and ocean and ice and _Stevie, Stevie, Stevie_. It's moving fast. So is yours, when I go onto the penthouse roof. They're both going fast - maybe they collide, and both of them stop. Maybe that's how things have to go for them to change.

At first we don't speak. The stars are glowing above, amazingly bright when competing against the city lights. They're a welcome distraction, one we both make full use of. But your hand is on the concrete beside me, fingers splayed put, calloused and cold and filled with a wiry strength when I pick it up in mine. For a moment your whole frame seems to set rigid, and I think  _this is it, he's scared of you now, you've scared him, this is the end, this is-_  
The hand squeezes mine.

Blue eyes and brown ones meet - and the spark in them is gold. The spark is gold, and so is your heart, and so is mine - so is everything after it's in your presence. How do you do that? How do you just come close to anything fragmented and stunted and broken and just- you just-

_Fix it?_

The spark dances, and so do we - on a penthouse rooftop, under the stars, our soaring minds the only music. Two minds finally at the same speed, two hearts beating together, two hands intertwined.


End file.
